


The Woodland Prince

by yuikimuraenthusiast (DontMindMeImJustAMeme)



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, Death, Elves, Fauns, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Kings & Queens, Knights - Freeform, Monsters, Multi, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Princes & Princesses, Psychological Trauma, Romance, Slow Burn, Torture, Violence, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27833416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontMindMeImJustAMeme/pseuds/yuikimuraenthusiast
Summary: In a world flourishing with magic, it's no surprise that others try to abuse that power. Unspeakable things have been created, and yet forgotten, in hopes that doing so will make the problem completely disappear.Dwight Fairfield had never been the greatest knight. Too clumsy, too weak, too cowardly, and yet in the face of an eldritch evil that threatens to consume the world, he and his newfound friends are the only people that stand in its way - the only people who can save the world before the Entity is freed.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield & Claudette Morel & Quentin Smith, Dwight Fairfield/Jake Park, Felix Richter & Ace Visconti & Jane Romero & David Tapp, Nea Karlsson/Feng Min, Yui Kimura & Feng Min
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	1. A Clumsy Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello reader, 'tis I, your local Yui Kimura simp here. This is just a little something I've had in the back of my head for a while now, so expect inconsistent updates. There's also no outline for this, and I'm just making this up as I go (yes I am a professional) so any ideas you have are welcomed!

They abandoned him. 

His entire platoon, gone, in a blink of an eye during field training. 

Okay, he gets the point - he’s got it for the past two years - that he wasn’t the best knight. After all, Dwight Fairfield was the clumsy one, the cowardly one, the man with no strength nor guts to show for it. If he was ever called into battle, he’d be trampled under horse hooves and iron boots. He couldn’t help the fact that he was tall and bony that no amount of red meat and exercise could fix. Even after his two years of nothing but bodybuilding and preparations, not an ounce of muscle has grown, continuing the tradition of the pathetic Fairfield knights. God, he was just like his father, stiff, bony and pale, but somehow worse, considering that dad has friends while he sits every day by the large oak tree near his family friend’s apothecary, run by one Claudette Morel and her apprentice Quentin Smith. They were a delight to chat to, and surely kind enough, but he’s never really gone through the effort to actually get to know them. They’d probably hate him too. 

But now, standing alone in the bleak, empty forest at dawn, no other humanoid in sight along with any evidence that they were here already has perspiration trickling down his brow. Dwight was already a pale man, but he somehow managed to pale ten more shades whiter than he is. He searches for any tracks made in the dirt, but whatever was there is long gone now. And he can’t just live in the tent he had awoken in. As the seasons turn to winter, he’d freeze if he stayed any longer. But how was he supposed to make it back before the annual snowstorm plagued the countryside? Everything looks the same. No landmarks or trail would ever stand above the blur of green and brown in the forest. 

Dwight’s already hyperventilating.  _ Oh shit, oh fuck me _ , his mind races, stomach in knots and hands clammy.  _ Don’t freak out, just breathe. Breathe! Aaaaaand I’m freaking out. _

Surely, they’d return for him, right? They’d realise that clumsy Dwight hadn’t tripped over his own foot yet and find their way back to him. They were douches to leave without him, sure, but they wouldn’t leave him to die. They can’t be that heartless. 

But the attempt at logical thinking was fruitless. His heart rate refused to decelerate, and the bitter cold made him feel lightheaded. What if he was mauled by a werewolf? Or had his blood drained dry by an aracne? He possessed a deep enough fear of spiders already, so the thought of facing an aracne with zero back-up had him anxiously observing his surroundings in his usual paranoid fashion. 

Think. Just think. All he had to do was use his brain. But then again, he was never that intelligent despite his lucky opportunity for education seeing as his father was not only a knight but a nobleman along with his mother. And he’d enjoyed the luxuries and comforts that wealth brought him, but the one thing it didn’t provide was friends. He could pay them to be nice to him, sure, but what he craves is so much more authentic than that. Something real, something he could grasp, yet not materialistic. A companion, someone who understands, though that’s wishful thinking. Not even he himself could withstand his own awkward nature. 

South. That’s where Throndsen City had to be, considering that the entire platoon headed North to reach Taral Mountains, a mountain range that flanked the entire Northcoast of the city. But the forest is dense, and it’s not uncommon for wandering folk to end up forever lost in these parts of the wild. He realises with a dry mouth that he too is about to become one of those people if he doesn’t hurry up and formulate a plan swiftly. Considering he already wasted most of the morning panicking, he should begin moving now or never instead of trekking by his lonesome in the dangerous night. 

With an artificial kind of forced bravery, he takes his first movements towards what he believes is North, with his armour fitted onto him (with much trouble without help) and a hand resting on his sheathed sword that he can barely lift. 

  
  


♚♘♚♘♚♘♚♘♚

He’s already lost. Just a few miles into the forest and he’s already lost complete track of where he was, with no help from the thick cover of branches and trees blocking all view from the sun, the little warmth he has against the nearing winter breezes. 

_ Fuck _ .  _ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-  _ He’s never going to make it home, is he? He’s going to starve, or freeze, or be mauled by wild wolves.  _ Stupid Dwight. Stupid, stupid, stupid _ . He never stood a chance. He was just poor, useless, clumsy Dwight, with not an ounce of strength nor courage left within him. It’d take a miracle for him to escape his current predicament, but as how life had treated him in the past, he doubts any god would show such mercy upon him. And it was all his fault, maybe, because he… he… God, who knows? He just- he just did  _ something _ . And that’s why he turned out like this. Like the failure he was. Maybe it was just his destiny, or that it was in his blood, or just bad karma for failing his one and only friend whom he just let die to the machete of that…  _ thing _ . 

He missed Meg. He missed her so much. If she was here, she would know just what to do. She’d beam at him, crack some witty joke that managed to make Dwight at least smile just a little, to settle the thundering in his chest. And he’d feel like everything was okay, that right now was temporary, wasn’t going to last more than 30 seconds, that he would make it to the next hour, and the next, and the next until he was old. He had no friends, and that sentiment may still be true because Meg wasn’t a friend. She was his rowdy, energetic sister who loved to play tag, and chase the noble’s horses and paint streaks on her face using mud. Ginger, braided hair, always in knots, a chipped front tooth, and eyes that shone like sapphire stones. All gone. Because of a cowardly mistake he made years ago. 

He rubs circles in his temples, trying to soothe the headache he just gave himself.  _ Come on! Stop wallowing in your own sob story and actually try to survive _ . Survive. Right. Because he’s  _ so _ good at that. 

Taking a glance at the sky, even though the thick shrubbery of branches and leaves obscures his vision, he’s able to find streaks of orange in the sky through the cracks of the treeline. Shit. He’d already spent hours wandering around aimlessly? Where- oh no- this isn’t good- where in the hell is he? Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh God, he’s going to die out here and his corpse is going to be picked clean by crows. Unless… Unless he finds shelter and conserves his rations, that should last him until he retreats home if he’s smart about it. So, a cave, right? That’s the best bet of cover and keeping him safe from the elements. And hopefully, it’d be uninhabited, and not filled with spiders and cockroaches and other nasty creepy crawlies. 

So he continues walking, even though his thighs are sore from the constant strain, and his eyes are drooping from the lack of unrest. He just needs to push through the pain, to soldier on, or he’d end up dead, and the entire existence of his life will have been for not. He doesn’t know where he’s going, or where he will end up, but where and whenever, he’ll adapt, because that’s the one thing he can do. He adapted to life as the son of a knight. He adapted to the life of being always by his lonesome. He adapted to the life of losing the only person whom he felt comfortable around. 

There’s a rumble coming from his stomach, and he realises that he’s been walking on an empty stomach for hours now. The prospect of stopping makes him feel sick and scared, he needs to find shelter or else he’ll die, but he takes a moment to scout out a fallen log, had sat down taking out his food rations, and began munching on a slice of white bread. 

And that’s when he smelt it. Smoke. But unlike any forest fire, smoke and ashes did not rain from the sky, no haze in the sky above nor any sign of animals fleeing the area. Could it be… civilisation? At least, a humanoid- a non-bloodthirsty humanoid with some kindness to spare? He takes his chances, heading towards the source of the smell, presumably West where the sun sets, hands clammy but head held high. 

Trekking continuously through bushland, stepping over rocks and mounds and streams as if the terrain wasn’t already causing the terrible ache in his legs. He almost forgot what his end goal was until he saw it; a small wood cabin peeking through from behind the trees, a trail of smoke billowing to the sky from a small campfire set out front, a man standing over seemingly boiling some water. Dwight gingerly takes a few steps forward, seeking cover behind the tree trunks, trying to get a better look at the man. Black, messy hair that sticks up at all ends, clad in a brown poncho over a long-sleeved shirt with thick tracksuits and leather boots. The scarf adorning his neck is woollen and thick, cosy, white with splotches of soot and mud but the camo pattern, while faded, still visible. And… And elf ears. Pointed, long, full-blooded elf ears, which was unusual in this region of the world. This place, largely populated by humans and lycanthropes, has never had an elf traveller in years. What’s an elf doing so far from home?

Dwight’s gotten closer now, so close he could make out the bandage on his hand, his skin warm and tinged with sunlight. He was staring. And that was creepy. He knew he was staring and that was creepy but he hadn’t seen an elf ever since he was a little boy, since he and Meg helped out this one kid who was so lost and hurt yet would not utter a single word to them. He was scared and so small, smaller than them, and Dwight and Meg couldn’t help but want to take the elf boy home, but he wholeheartedly refused to, feverishly shaking his head no. 

“You can come out now.” 

Dwight immediately snapped out of his trance. 

_ Shit _ . How did he see him from behind the tree? But the man keeps waiting, arms folded and tapping his foot impatiently, clearly unamused. 

Mustering up all the courage he had left, Dwight hesitantly reveals himself from behind the safety of the trees. He feels so exposed and embarrassed that he was spotted so easily. But upon the elf observing him cautiously, his eyes fixed on his sword, brows narrowing and left hand reaching for the spear behind his back. 

“Woah, woah, woah!” Dwight puts his hands up defensively. “I’m not here to hurt you, I swear?”

The elf cocks an eyebrow, apparently not so inclined to believe him. “...Sure. And what’s a knight doing out here then?”

“Training, “ Dwight says. “My platoon is doing field training.” 

“And where’s your platoon now?” 

Heat rises to Dwight’s face. “They… Uh- Look, i-it’s not-”

“You’re lost, “ he sighs, hand dropping from his spear with his entire frame relaxing. 

And for a moment, there's a beat of silence, long and unbearable. God, Dwight feels so out of place just standing here in this man’s turf uninvited and armed. Yet, he doesn’t know what to say, still so caught up in the fact that this man is an elf, out here, in the outskirts of Thordsen (if he hadn’t accidentally wandered so far the wrong way, that was). He should probably ask for directions, or apologise, or something. But every intelligible sentence he formulates in his mind dies before even reaching his lips. So he stares. Stares at his slight beard, his knotted hair, the scarf that has been dirtied and worn out after prolonged use. This man… He doesn’t understand what it is about him, but he’s… interesting. Not that cabin folk are unheard of, it's just that elves, being fae creatures, usually need the accompaniment of other conscious beings to thrive, and seeing this man’s way of living, it appears he has no room for an acquaintance. Completely living out in the wild by his lonesome. 

“You just gonna stare, or are you gonna leave?” 

Dwight is once again drawn back to reality, registering the unimpressed scowl on the other’s face.  _ Holy shit, this guy is intimidating…  _

“I- um. Sorry…” Dwight wants to bite his nails but finds that he is unable to thanks to his gauntlets. “It’s just that- well… I have no idea where I’m going, and it’s getting pretty dark and cold and-” 

The elf’s gaze hardens. “You want to stay.” 

“Well, yes.” 

The man stands there in utter silence, before taking a deep breath. “No.” 

With a single, two-letter word, Dwight’s heart plummets. “But-” 

“You’re not staying, “ says the man. “I’m not accepting any visitors right now.” 

And Dwight wants to say more, to maybe reason with him, or to beg, as pitiful as that may sound. But fuck being viewed as pathetic. His life is at stake here. What can this man possibly lose from letting him stay the night? He’s no thief, the city’s crest that lies above his heart in his chest plate - an emblem of three gears arranged into a sphere - should prove his honorability. And yet, the man continues to be distrustful of his intentions.  _ I mean, look at me… _ Dwight thinks.  _ I’m just some tall, skinny white guy that can’t see without my glasses _ . 

The man walks over to his kettle by the fire, using the cloth that was perched over a nearby log to avoid scalding his hands, and begins to walk back inside his cabin. He spares Dwight one final glance before disappearing behind the door. _ Not even going to say goodbye _ . 

Fine, be like that. If he has some problem with him, then that’s for the elf to sort out, not him. He could survive on his own. Just back to plan A, find a cave for shelter, and he’ll be fine. His pack has a shovel, a pick, three days worth of rations, and a torch with matches to light. Now thinking of it, he could collect firewood and make a small fire to keep warm under the unforgiving coolness of night. If he was lucky, he’d find some game as well, catch it, and roast it for some protein. And so he reluctantly turns away from the cosy cabin and wanders back into the woods, shoulders aching under the burden of his pack, calves strained beyond measure. 

He looks up towards the dusk sky but is only met with bleak overcast. Fuck. Why- of all times? Was it really going to rain  _ now _ ? Suddenly that sick feeling has returned, and Dwight isn’t feeling all too confident in himself anymore. He’s already so cold, the metal armour plates sending the constant chill bone-deep. Maybe he should take it off. It’s so heavy and he’s already fatigued, but then again, he’d still have to carry it, and he doesn’t think his poor back can take much more. But he can’t stop. Not yet. Not when the risk of dying to the elements is so fresh in his mind that it’s almost a memory. 

He feels the rain beginning to trickle down his face. Just a light sprinkle, but a heavy reminder of the storm to come. He keeps searching for something, anything, god anything will do, as long as it keeps him dry. But as he continues the dirt ground turns to mud as the rain once sprinkling now bullets upon his entire body. He’s so miserable, and tired, and cold, and scared but fuck, there’s nothing he can do about it. He has to keep going or die.

He collapses. Knees sinking into the soft mud, he curls over himself as he breathes, lungs fighting for the air that it has been deprived of during the entire day. His legs and hands tremble, not just from fear, but from utter exhaustion. His entire body is about to keel over, but he forces himself against a tree before that can happen, his pack sliding off his shoulders and placing it in his lap. He plucks the spectacles perched atop his nose and wipes away the water and fog accumulated at the lenses, neatly folding them and gingerly placing them in its casing before it returns safely inside his pack. If he’s going to die out here, might as well go peacefully. He closes his tired eyes, a sigh escaping his body, grateful that he’s finally resting. 

He’s seconds away from drifting into slumber, but a loud caw jolts him awake. He continues to keep his eyes closed, trying to drown out the bird or whatever it is and focus on the sound of rain, but the bird just caws again, pecking his foot with a metallic  _ tink _ . With annoyance, his left eye flutters open, finding a crow continuously pecking at his feet. 

“S-stop it…” He mumbles, teeth chattering from the cold. “‘M not dead yet. Eat my body later.”

But the crow just stares him down with huge beady eyes, and tilts its head, like it had recognised him. That’s not it. It can’t be. It’s probably just curious, or is waiting until he dies so it can eat him.  _ What’s a crow doing out in the rain, though? _

They sit there in silence, the crow just… watching him. No more cawing, no more pecking, just gazing up at him from his feet, barely blinking. More still than a statue. God, he’s hallucinating, isn’t he? He’s so cold and tired and stressed he’s seeing things that aren’t there. But the longer he stares at the crow, the more his mind begins to wander. Crows; usually a sign of bad luck. Perhaps, this is a sign that he’s going to perish in the coming winter chill. But maybe, that’s why it’s staying, to maybe comfort him. His mum had taught him that corvids were more intelligent than they let on. Maybe the crow just  _ knew _ .

_ Thanks, I guess _ , Dwight thinks.  _ At least I won’t die alone _ .

There’s the subtle crunch of leaves and twigs, distant, but growing closer. God, he can’t catch a fucking break. Just one second of peace and quiet, a moment to be alone and to collect his thoughts. But every train of thought is always interrupted. Jesus, can’t even die peacefully. He closes his eyes and groans, more irritated than anything, but doesn’t have the energy to look back. At this point, he’s way too tired to even give two shits about some animal that’s probably going to rip him to bloody shreds. He hopes it does, then maybe this miserable day will come to an  _ end _ . 

“Get up.” 

The words, not his own, startle him from his sleep once more, but this time with much more alert. That had been words, Commonspeak, with the voice ever so familiar. This time Dwight is bothered to move his head, gazing up at the elf. 

“Wha- How’d you- I… How did you even find me?” Dwight asks, disbelief colouring his voice. 

The elf’s gaze flickers to the crow still at Dwight’s feet. “She helped me find you.” The crow caws at him, almost friendly. 

Dwight blinks. “...What?” 

“This isn’t the time to explain, “ the elf sighs. “If you wanna freeze out here, that’s fine, but if you wanna live, follow me.” 

Dwight doesn’t argue with him. He uses the tree as leverage to help him to his feet, fumbling to stand straight until he’s able to reach for his pack without falling over. He locks gaze with the elf for just a moment, asking himself why? Why did he suddenly have a change of heart? Why let him in now? And what’s with this crow? But then the man looks away and wordlessly begins walking back. 

And it takes a while, at least to Dwight, tired and strained beyond anything he’s ever felt before, but for once today feeling hopeful, truly hopeful. When the cabin comes into view, the relief that floods Dwight almost brings him to tears, misty-eyed, silently hoping that the rain obscures that little detail to this man. He doesn’t want to be immediately kicked out for being a huge crybaby. 

The elf steps inside, shaking his head like a dog trying to dry itself, and takes off the now rain-soaked poncho and scarf, setting it on the chairs by the fireplace. At first, Dwight just kinda… stands there. At the doorway, because he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to come in yet. The elf realises this and shoots him a look, Dwight unsure but awkwardly letting himself inside regardless. The elf immediately takes to light a fire in the fireplace, the heat quickly radiating throughout the room and sending shivers down Dwight’s spine. But he supposes that’s a good thing since he had already lost feeling in his hands. But now, he can feel his fingers again, and his feet, and sure he’s tired and when he wakes up he’s going to be so sick but just being by the warm fire gives Dwight a kind of appreciation for it. He’d always been scared of fire, but now, it doesn’t seem so bad. 

He sits by the fire on the wooden floor, carefully removing his armour plates and setting it by his pack positioned abreast of him. His clothes are completely drenched, so hopefully, the fire will dry it out quickly. 

“Thank you, “ he mutters, but just loud enough that the other can hear him. “Thank you so much.”

The other doesn’t respond immediately, but when he does, it’s just a small, "You're welcome, I guess.”

The elf turns away and is about to head up the stairs until Dwight calls out to him. “Wait!”

“What?” The man asks.

“You… Never told me your name.” Dwight had only realised that now, and he isn’t comfortable with calling him ‘the elf’ in his mind.

The elf (God that’s so awkward) gives him a strange look. “Well, you never asked.” 

“I’m asking now.” 

The man huffs with annoyance, hesitating on answering his question for a reason Dwight cannot understand. But eventually, he decides to reply.

“Just call me Jake.” 

“Jake…” Dwight softly says to himself, trying to get used to the name and attach it to his face so he doesn’t forget. “I’m Dwight.”

Jake cocks an eyebrow. “Who names their kid Dwight?” 

Dwight is taken back by this question. Like, he knows it’s not the best name, but does he really have to call him out for it? It’s not his fault. “Listen…” A rosy pink colours his cheeks. Great. Now he’s embarrassed. “I’m pretty sure my parents hate me.”

“You and me both.” 

Dwight doesn’t know whether to laugh or not, so he stays silent as the safest bet. At least, they have something in common apparently. That’s a good start, right? That’s how you make friends. Find something in common, even if that sentiment was an overstatement. Really, it was only his dad that made things miserable. ‘You have to be better than me, Dwight’, ‘One day, you must surpass me’, and, most famously, ‘Don’t make the same mistakes I did’. His mother, while always tired with the cooking, the cleaning, and the washing, she always tried to make time for him when she could, and he had appreciated it, even if at times it felt as though she was barely in his life. But then came the fights. Terrible, loud fights that’d shake the entire house. Why’d those two married, Dwight has no clue. Every civil conversation turned to screaming that’d keep him up all night. You marry someone you love, right? 

A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over Dwight. Jake can feel it too, because he sighs and heads upstairs, returning with a thick woollen blanket and a feather-stuffed pillow. “Here, take this and sleep. I don’t have another bed so… try and get comfortable. When I wake up I want you gone already, got it?”

Dwight just nods his head, not bothering to pay attention with his current sleep deprivation. Taking the woollen blanket thankfully, he rolls himself up to make the hardwood floor, while already having furs laid across it, more comfortable, setting the pillow against his head. It wasn’t the best, and it was unevenly filled and didn’t support his head right, but it was the best pillow he had ever slept on. His body immediately sunk into the blanket, and he fell into a deep sleep.


	2. Bracelets and Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight gets sick and accidentally reveals a secret about himself.

A sharp kick to his side awoke Dwight from his peaceful slumber. 

He rolls over in pain and confusion, sending a questioning gaze from the source of the kick to find Jake looking displeased, arms folded over his chest. 

“I said you had to leave by the time I wake up, “ he says, his glare boring a hole in Dwight’s forehead. 

“B-But, “ Dwight stammers. “But… I’m tired, and I have no idea where to go next.”

“Too bad.” 

And before Dwight could protest, Jake had tugged him towards the door by the back of his collar, carrying his pack with his spare hand, shoving him out the door forcefully. With one final push, Dwight tumbles out of the doorway, his pack thrown unceremoniously out with him, landing with a loud  _ thump _ at his feet. He cringes. His glasses were in there. But it was obvious that Jake couldn’t give two shits about him anymore, which Dwight was deeply hurt by yet didn’t exactly know why. He didn’t know Jake. They weren’t best buds, or friends, and he wasn’t even remotely kind to him whatsoever. Yet the thought stung just a little bit. 

Dwight felt cold. The bout of terrible weather was over, and the sun peered down upon them in full morning glory, but a violent shiver down his spine made him want to curl up by the fire again. Seeing that Dwight had yet to move out of his doorway, Jake made this sort of… sigh between a growl which was kind of scary, and made Dwight anxious for continuing to intrude, but stood his ground still feeling weak with a terrible headache. 

“Why aren’t you leaving?” Jake asks with an annoyed tone. 

Dwight wants to bury a hole in the ground and never crawl out because of the way Jake is glowering at him, but somehow finds his voice. “I’m… still cold.” 

Jake stands there for a moment in silence before he raises a hand to Dwight’s forehead without warning. “You’re burning up.” 

Great. Just his luck. Of all times to get sick, he had to be sick around the magical elf hobo who, for some reason, hated his guts. He wishes for Claudette to be here. She was always so kind to everyone and knew of herbal remedies to cure about just any type of common ailment. That, and she made the best honey lemon ginger tea known to man and beast. 

“Can I… come back inside then?” Dwight inquires with slight fear of being rejected, yet hopeful, because yeah, Jake is a piece of shit sometimes but at least he’s capable of compassion. 

Jake seemingly contemplates this, as if being nice was the toughest decision in the world, and Dwight was just about to give up his hopes before Jake says a hesitant “fine.” 

So he’s back inside, again, and can’t help but think that this is the most surreal moment in his life, barely able to process that yesterday and now has occurred. He, of all people, has just met what must be the weirdest, most asocial elf in history, and managed to convince that very elf to let him stay the night in his isolated cabin, and may have just potentially convinced him again for another night. 

Another wave of uncontrollable shaking completely wracks his body. He’s grateful that he didn’t give Jake a chance to pack up and returns to the floor where the woollen blanket still lays, immediately crawling back into the furs and wrapping himself up in a cocoon of wool and warmth. He can’t hold back the shudder coursing through his body, his head pounding and stomach in knots. 

Jake stands over him, an unreadable expression on his face. “Just tell me if you’re dying, okay?” 

Dwight hums, not paying too much mind to him and trying to find comfort in the blanket as the unnatural chill begins to take hold. He wishes he can just fall asleep, so tired and crippled with exhaustion and now sickness, but alas, even with heavy eyelids, his body refuses to slip under and rest. He just wants this to be over, whatever  _ this _ even is anymore, because he sure as hell lost track a long time ago, maybe about halfway through yesterday. Shivering and cold despite the warmth surrounding him, he desperately tries to not think about it, to still his mind so that he can sleep, but the more he forces himself to forget about recent events, the more it tugs on the back of his brain. Isn’t it funny how out of all existing, sentient beings in this world, that it’s him rooming with a strange elf in the middle of nowhere. And sure, it may not be the most fantastic nor dangerous thing that has ever happened to him, but it is certainly the most bizarre thing since his childhood. 

He shoves his blanket over his head and closes his eyes. He can’t sleep. Not with this… terrible feeling that has settled in his chest. A sense of foreboding. Like something terrible is about to happen.  _ Shut up, Dwight _ , he scolds himself.  _ You’re just being your usual, paranoid, self _ . But, like usual, no amount of self-comforting will calm his shaking hands and beating heart. God, the feeling was awful, like wanting to cry but not being able to get it out. Or someone is scolding you, but they won’t let you edge a single word in on your perspective. Just frustrating, and tiring, and the most annoying thing in the world besides wet socks. 

A loud  _ ‘ahem’ _ got Dwight peeking out from under the covers, Jake standing over him holding a wooden, steaming bowl of something that Dwight can’t see from this angle. 

“Here.” He sets the bowl by his face on the floor, the familiar smell of vegetable and chicken stew wafting around his head. “Eat it.” 

Dwight was taken aback by the command to eat and wonders if the man above him has ever talked to a single humanoid being in his life. Ignoring him and his unnerving presence, he gingerly takes the bowl of stew in his hands and lets the warmth seep into the skin of his hands. Taking the wooden spoon, he blows his spoonful of stew, and hesitantly puts the contents in his mouth. Right then and right now, that stew was the best thing he has ever tasted. He hadn’t realised that he was starving until his first swallow, then after that, the rest was gulfed down in a matter of a few minutes. It was hot, and it burned his tongue and the back of his throat, and he was so grateful for a hot meal that he could almost cry. 

“Don’t ask me for seconds, “ Jake says, and Dwight just now only realises that he was still in the room with him and had witnessed him devouring the stew like a wendigo feasting on human flesh. “The rest is going to the crows.”

Dwight hums, not really caring. He’s already growing used to Jake’s sour attitude, so it’s probably his fever bothering him more. He reaches for the friendship bracelets adorning his wrist, taking comfort in their familiar texture and missing home. He had four, each with their own unique value to him. It may be just a piece of woven fabric, but it's the most important thing to him and the only thing that may keep him sane right now. 

Jake cocks an eyebrow. “You're a knight, right?” 

“Yeah…” Dwight replies, feeling a little sceptical of where that line of thought is going.

He points to his bracelets. “What’s with the bracelets, then?” 

“Um… Is-- is there something wrong with that?” 

Jake gave him an indiscernible look that makes Dwight feel even more uncomfortable than before. “And they allow that?” 

"I-- um, yes…?" 

Jake throws him an odd look, one filled with a lack of understanding and his usual judgement, before turning away with the empty bowl and spoon in hand.

An indescribable feeling creeps up the back of Dwight’s throat, an odd mixture of discomfort yet content with the warm food and roof overhead. And he really misses his mum, and even dad, no matter how much he burdens him because, in the end, he knows that he would at least want him home safe. He misses Claudette and Quentin, what feels like the only two people in the world who are kind to him outside of family. It was a heavy feeling that weighed down his heart, this sinking feeling like something bad is just bound to happen, pulling him to the bottom of an ocean of emotions. 

He pulls his bracelets tight to his face, almost nuzzling them in a way that would make him embarrassed if anyone saw this childish display. With a single stroke to the fabric, a trail of golden light follows his finger, a warm and tingly feeling engulfing his hand. Relishing in the feeling, he sighs and adjusts his position in the blanket burrito. 

“So, “ and the sound of Jake's voice has his attention once again. “What’s so special about the bracelet?”

Dwight blinks. “...Huh?”

“You were fiddling with it ever since you met me."

_ Oh shit, I’ve really been doing that? _ Dwight thinks.  _ I didn’t even notice until literally right now.  _ He sits up, immediately regretting the action and feeling sluggish, but already committing to the motion he uses his hands to anchor him to the ground. “Well um, it’s hard to explain…” And it really was. For Dwight, at least, because any and every sensible thought is thrown out the window when conversing with strangers. It’s like his tongue is glued to his mouth, stumbling over his words like small stones on a pathway. “They’re… special.” 

“... ‘Special’, “ Jake deadpans. 

Dwight can feel the blood rush to his face. “Y-yeah, they are. Really- ” His mind is scrambling to catch up, but before it does, he blurts out, “ -And they’re magic!” 

Dwight freezes, and so does Jake.  _ Ohhhhhh fuck, oh shit _ . 

He desperately tries to recover. “Like- uh, well the thing is-”

“No. I believe you.” 

“W--”  _ What? _ Confusion and leftover embarrassment consumes his features, the feeling overwhelming to the point of him feeling as though breathing out would make him faint. So he holds his breath, words lodged in his throat, unable to open his mouth as he stares wide-eyed at Jake who had just said what he did.  _ I- you believe me? Why?  _ Rarely anyone believes him, even if they’ve known him for all these years, like his dad, unable to wrap his head around the concept that their scrawny, pale son, knows magic. Only his mother, Claudette, Quentin and Meg ever believed him, and it took him so long for him to say anything. And now, this stranger who doesn’t even like him has been so quickly persuaded that he’s capable of channelling the energy in his soul unto the physical world. 

“What kind of magic? Show me, “ Jake says, though it sounds more like a demand than anything.

_ Show you? _ Dwight feels close to throwing up, and it’s not because of his current illness. “Uh… Okay, b-but I need something to make the bracelets with.” 

Jake doesn’t argue with him, instead reaching into a kind of storage closet and pulling out a box of rope and twine. Carefully takes out the pieces of twine, measuring their length against each other, before deciding that the length he has is more than enough. Setting the pieces of forest green, brown, pearl and white twine, in front of Dwight, he takes a step back and waits patiently. 

_ Okay, cool. These pieces are long enough, though I don’t know the size of his wrist. Eh, doesn’t matter _ . He begins his work with shaky hands, tying a knot with a loop at the base of the four twines. He glances up at Jake and finds his facial expression unreadable, unnerving him. He wished he could read the elf better. Staring for what he thinks is a moment too long, he returns weaving, working the twine into a pattern he thinks might suit the colours until he’s reached the end. “Um… Can I wrap this around your wrist please?”

Jake says nothing but keeps his wrist out in front of him. Dwight wraps the length around and finds that his wrist is smaller than he perceived because his bracelet is a little too big. Making quick adjustments to the length, he ties the final knot, making sure that it wasn’t too small that it cut off circulation, but not too big that it would slide off easily. Jake seemed alarmed, having no idea that he was the one who needed to wear the bracelet, and Dwight probably should have asked first but decides it’s fine because Jake can just cut it off whenever he pleases. 

With a final inhale, he holds his wrist with both hands, keeping his palms over the bracelet and just concentrating, trying to ignore how soft and warm Jake’s tanned skin was. There was a feeling, a warm, tingly one around his own wrist, and Dwight opened his eyes to find that an exact carbon copy of the bracelet he just wove burning into existence. Jake raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, “ Dwight says. “Now, just… stand somewhere we can’t see each other.” 

Jake appears wearier now but does as he’s told, in his usual silent fashion. He stands behind the wall that separates the living room from the kitchen. 

“Okay, now- uh… Oh! Hold up any number of fingers, but don’t tell me.” 

Jake hesitated, but slowly raised his hand and raised a single finger. 

Dwight let himself smile. “You’re holding one finger.”

Silence followed, then, “...How do you know that?”

“Because I can see you through this wall.” 

Despite the barrier, the outline of Jake shimmered shades of yellow and gold, almost sparkling at the edges where the aura shone brightest. His aura. Clear as day to him, brilliantly lit like a star amongst the blackness of night. 

“Why can’t I see you?” Jake asks, still behind the wall.

“W-Well…” Dwight flushes. “It only works for me. But if you don’t want me to read your aura, then just take off the bracelet! I will still have the other bracelet attached and you can put it on again unless you destroy yours.”

To his complete surprise, Jake doesn’t immediately rip his bracelet off. Instead, he returns to Dwight’s sight - physical sight - out from behind the wall, examining his bracelet intently, analysing, as if the secret to his power was held within the woven twine. 

“How… Did you even discover this? It’s so niche, “ Jake says, sending Dwight an inquisitory glance. 

“It was an old friend who did, “ Dwight explains, feeling nostalgic and sad, reminiscing about the past. “She wanted to have friendship bracelets because my mum taught me how, so when I made her one, it just… happened.” Meg had been so excited too. Jumping up and down, pointing at the bracelet materialising on his wrist, exclaiming ‘magic! Dwight, you have magic!’ over and over with a toothy grin. 

Jake nods, hand tracing the pattern on the bracelet absentmindedly. “Does it have a range?” 

“Yeah, but I can still see auras from quite a few metres away.”

Fatigue washes over Dwight in an instant, him immediately regretting showing Jake how his magic worked when he was sick. Fuck, he didn’t account for his magic absolutely draining him.

Jake noticed this too, cocking an eyebrow. “You went very pale. What’s wrong?”

“Mm, tired…” Dwight lies back down in his blankets. “That took a lot outta me.” 

“Making a bracelet made you that exhausted?” There was a harsh tone carried with those words, as if Jake couldn’t believe that his little trick cost him so much energy. 

Dwight doesn’t mind his rude comment though, too sick and tired to care, and with an annoyed grunt, he returns back into the comfort of his blanket cocoon, finally falling asleep. 

And somewhere, deep in the universe, it felt him. It sighs, pleased, and if it possessed a mouth it would surely be grinning. “ **Perfect** , ” it says to itself, and yet to all reapers who can hear him. “ **Find them, find them both** ”.


	3. Mask In The Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A journal entry from a travelling man, and things taking a turn for the worse when an unexpected stranger invites himself inside Jake's cabin.

_ Journal entry #58 _

  * _Day 63_



_ As I’m currently writing this, it is night, and my travel companions are asleep. We’ve travelled far yet have made such little progress, I won’t lie when I say I feel somewhat disheartened. But then something changed. _

_ I’ve felt something strange today.  _

_ I can't describe it, but I just know something is amiss. I've been experiencing strange premonitions before, but this one, this one time it's… I don't know - it's beyond anything I've ever felt. I haven't felt it this strong ever since I was a kid, and when I was sixteen. The thought scares me, that it's awakening again, just like before all those years ago. My worst fears coming into fruition like that… If there is a god out there, then please, heed me - have mercy on the next victims. Going through that again? To relive what I have already witnessed? I don't think I can do it. I'm sorry. I've never been a brave man.  _

_ But I am persistent. Whatever it is out there, I want it gone - I want to kill it. Never in my life have I felt such a strong calling, almost as strong as my interest in architecture. I know I am most likely not the first, and I doubt I will be the last, but I will forever dedicate all my findings, my life's work, into destroying that thing. I am the predecessor of my father's will. I will stop at nothing until I see the day that thing is destroyed. No broken bones nor tears and blood will stop me. My soul will not rest easy.  _

_ These feelings do however spark cause for concern amongst my travel party. It's understandable though - having unexplained premonitions regarding an unknown creature is surely never a good sign in any culture. And I too was concerned once, when I was younger. These feelings had so much power over me, drowning me in an ocean of incomprehensible despair, so much that I cry, or panic, or lock myself in my room for hours. Now they do not faze me as much. It is rare for me to have such a physical reaction, though today is the exception.  _

_ I just felt so… scared? It was like a fear, but not of something present before you. Not like responding to a threat. And yet, I felt so scared and filled with dread that I couldn’t talk, only shake my head ‘yes’ or ‘no’. It’s incredibly scary when that happens, and I don’t know why I do it, but it is just… impossible to even open my mouth. No sound I can make. Just silence. Like an old habit I’ve retained since I was young, because then I would barely talk until I made improvements when I was eight. And still, still sometimes I am rendered completely silent, my right of voice stripped away from me by my own body. And it can last for hours, just hours of people trying to coax a response, yet nothing. At least now, with my travel companions, they are much more understanding than the instructors who tried to rid me of my quirks and habits. There is one in particular who is good at providing emotional support, bless her soul. She doesn’t ask me to talk, but instead just waits patiently, not at all miffed or angry, until she asks me for permission. It’s a strange thing, getting permission from someone else to speak, but sometimes it works, and I can manage to talk somewhat again. Though sometimes it doesn’t, and still she does not get mad. She understands in a way that I thought was not possible from another human being. She is truly remarkable, that woman, and I don’t know where I’d be without her.  _

_ And then there is the man who I now consider my best friend. We definitely weren’t close before my journey began, and in fact, he wasn’t even supposed to be part of this traveling group. The only reason I knew him is because that man, despite being as old as he is, stirs up so much trouble in all corners of the neighbourhood it’s impossible not to know his name; Ace Visconti. I had been separated from my group at night because I needed to use the restrooms when on my way out I was confronted by what must have been bandits. They wanted my money, knowing that I must be wealthy based on the garments I wore and had completely caught me by surprise, knocking me unconscious. However, when I woke up, it wasn't a knife to my throat, the bandits, but instead him with a hooded clad figure in my peripheral vision. The cloaked man said something to him, “You owe me, Visconti” and then left without another word nor waiting for a response from the other. Ace paid no mind to that, however, and just smiled at me, helping me to my feet. “Be careful out here, “ he had said to me. “Pretty boys like you are bound to attract trouble. ‘Know this ‘cause I attract ‘lotta trouble myself.” I had never been close to anyone in a long time before Ace.  _

_ This is… My new family, I suppose. Me, Ace, Jane, Bill and Sir Tapp. They look out for me, and I look out for them, like how a real family is supposed to. I still mourn for my old one; my father, wherever he may be, and my mother who has recently passed to illness. I am still so sad, and I think of them so much, and I miss my fiance, but I need to do this. I need to push through these feelings. Because every breath I take is dedicated to them, and I solemnly swear to live for them. My pride is with them, my kindness is with them, my life is with them. With their names. With their mind, body and soul. And with this new family, I will honour every single one of them.  _

_ Ah, I’ve fallen off-topic. This whole journal is supposed to be a catalogue of all my findings, but instead is turning into more of a personal diary. But I can’t help it. I admire each and every one of them so strongly it hurts in such a humbled way - to know that they make me a better person. Yes, as I said before, I am not a brave man, but these people give me courage. I just hope that they know how much they mean to me.  _

_ But, reeling back to the original topic, while I have no clear idea on how to kill the thing, or the “Pretentious Sky Spider Fucker” as Bill so poetically calls it, we do have a lead. A travelling bard, Kate Denson, has once encountered it as well, or so that’s what the rumours are according to Ace. Apparently, in a few weeks, she will be performing at Throndsen City for their annual Winter Festival. It’s a fair bit away, and we will have to travel overseas to arrive there from Leuchtfeuer, but I genuinely believe that if we waste no time, we will make it there to meet this woman. I won’t give my hopes up, because it is not confirmed, but I’ll take my chances, especially with Ace and his luck on my side.  _

_ It’s getting late now, and I must rest for my upcoming travels, but before I go, I want to make a note. Not to anyone in particular, but maybe the person who might find this, and especially to myself.  _

_ Never stop searching. Because no matter where you are, you will be found. _

  * _Felix Richter_



  
  
  


♚♘♚♘♚♘♚♘♚

  
  


Something woke Dwight up.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but maybe it was his illness waking him up again for the fourth time tonight. It didn’t feel like it though, and that thought in and of itself made Dwight mentally slap himself for being insane.  _ Just go back to sleep, it’s nothing _ , he scolded himself. But to be fair, he was quite scared, being alone in the dark, no bed, just sleeping on the floor, like a four-year-old. He sighed and closed his eyes, just thinking, but about nothing in particular. Just about how awful this has all been, and how much he wants to go home. His mother and father are surely on their death beds due to heart failure by now, and gods know how Claudette and Quentin are feeling. He wishes he wasn’t such a burden, but that kind of comes to everyone by existing, when you really think about it. Even in his solitude, Jake is probably a burden to someone too, and while the thought may not be so cheerful, it somehow makes him feel better, to know that this is one of those things that just is. And maybe being a burden isn’t so bad in the first place, because it means that they spend the time and energy to care. It didn’t help the guilt, but it made him feel better about himself. So he lays there, just taking in everything, every sensation, noise and feeling to help him drift asleep.

A muffled  _ thump _ had Dwight snapping his eyes open. He wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been listening out for something, but he had out of sheer coincidence and held his gaze up at the roof. Above him was Jake’s room, and he knows this because Jake probably had forgotten about his bracelet and worn it through the night. Man slept like a rock, so still Dwight thought he was fucking dead or some shit. But no, that’s just how he slept, because he had gotten up an hour before to drink some water. 

Then Jake moved. 

_ Oh, so he’s awake again, so maybe whatever that noise was woke him up _ . 

But then he began to move unnaturally; his back had lifted off the bed, his head lolling, legs dangling, as if someone was picking him up.

_ As if someone was… oh fUCK- _

Dwight rose to his feet at Mach speeds, ignoring the wave of nausea that washed over him and found his sword and glasses. Bolting up the single flight of wooden stairs, not really caring that he has made his arrival very apparent, he burst through the door that was once locked, now forced open by someone incredibly strong, sword poised and staring wildly towards the danger. A tall man. So much taller than he is. Black shirt, blue overalls, but most hauntingly a stark white mask that had brown hair, which for some reason creeped Dwight out, but not as much as the fact that he couldn’t see his eyes through the holes of the mask. Like he was completely soulless. And there he stood, carrying a limp Jake that Dwight now understood was unconscious. 

The masked man tilted his head which Dwight didn’t expect from someone as terrifying as him, and hoisted Jake over his shoulder. Through the moonlight peeking through the single window in Jake’s room, Dwight could now see the man’s large kitchen knife reflecting light off the clean, sharp blade. The fact that it was clean made Dwight feel more secure. At least there’s no blood. Well, not yet.

_ Is he planning on fighting me one-handed?  _ Dwight questions to himself. Who even is he? What the hell is he doing here?

“W-What do you want from us?” Dwight asks while readying his sword, cursing inwardly at himself for stuttering.  _ Don’t let it know you’re scared _ . 

It didn’t reply. It just stepped toward once, then twice, until Dwight fully processed that it was walking towards him at a steady pace. Dwight sucked air into his lungs before raising his sword and lashing out, swiping from his hip bone to his lower chest. The man didn’t look too phased. It didn’t care the blood was trickling down his torso and staining his overalls, because with his free hand he brought his knife down on Dwight’s shoulder. He screamed, too sick to have actually been able to dodge the attack in time, stumbling back and hitting the wall, clutching his bleeding shoulder. Fuck, it was deep too and felt the warm, sticky blood leak from under his hand. He wanted to vomit. 

Jake made a little noise, a soft groan, and both had realised that he was stirring awake. While the man became distracted, Dwight saw the opportunity to jab him in the stomach, letting the blade sink deep into his flesh before pulling it out. It seemed more miffed this time, like it could actually feel the pain, shoulders tensing with a sharp inhale, but not in a way that Dwight would have hoped. Less scared, more annoyed. Even with the literal hole in his stomach now. It let go of Jake, letting him fall into the bed and made his move towards Dwight. 

A hand made its way towards Dwight’s throat, large and faster than he had ever seen someone move, picking him off the ground like he weighed nothing and slammed him into the wall. He hit his head  _ hard _ , his glasses half falling off his face and having the wind knocked out of him. His world was spinning, lungs screaming, dropping his sword and clawing with both hands at the one tightly secured around his throat. He wanted to call for help, call for Jake to wake up, but nothing came out - only a choked whimper. He felt the energy drain from his body, and yet it wouldn’t give up, running purely on the biological will to survive.

The masked man then jolted, relaxing the grip of Dwight’s throat just enough that he could breathe, and looked down at the floor. Dwight’s gaze followed his, and realised he wasn’t looking at the floor, but at the spear that had pierced through his back out the other side. The spear retracted, and the man had completely let go, letting Dwight fall to the floor in a cough fit. Struggling to gain his breath back, he looks past the man that had almost killed him to find Jake, pale and sweating, but standing, eyes wide and pupils dilated. 

“Get out of my house, “ Jake demanded in a low voice, breathing ragged and spear ready to strike again.

Still, it didn’t respond. It raised its knife and struck out for Jake, making a wide arch that grazed the bridge of the elf’s nose. Mid lunge back, Jake dug his back foot into the ground and brought forward the spear, managing to dig into its waist and dragging it sidewards to rip through even more muscle. Dwight made his move to stand again, trying to find his footing but almost passing out, slumping against the wall while the man takes hold of Jake’s shirt, drags him closer, and brings down the blade. Jake blocks the attack with his arm, letting the knife sink into his arm before taking the head of his spear and digging it into the other’s stomach for a second time. In one swift motion, Jake jumps and uses both feet to kick the man right where he had stabbed him, successfully coaxing it into letting go and stumbling back. Dwight finally on his feet, he doesn’t give it the chance to recover, carving a deep score into its back with the little strength he’d regained. 

With little warning, it spins around and catches Dwight across the chest, him reeling back before it can go at him for another swing. Jake lunges forward, but this time it’s prepared, driving an elbow into his face. He’s knocked back, clutching his what looks to be broken nose, the blood pouring down his chin onto the floor. Dwight strikes again, bringing his blade upwards with the strength of both arms and aiming for its face. But still winded and ill, he’s far too slow, and it catches his blade in one hand, slicing through the skin and the blood trickling down its arm. 

Dwight freezes.  _ Holy shit _ . 

With one forceful tug, it completely rips the sword from Dwight’s grasp, its blood now running down the length of the blade and throwing it under Jake’s bed.  _ Fuck _ . He’s unarmed, defenseless, now completely useless.  _ Think fast, think fast, think fast-  _ He’s clocked on the side of his head by a large fist he didn’t see coming, falling back into a wooden table and hearing the toolbox fall to the floor. He steps on something other than wood, looking down for a split second, just enough to see the jagged edges of a saw. What kind of saw? He doesn’t know, but if it’s made for cutting through shit then it must mean it can cut through flesh too. 

Taking the saw, he takes a blind swipe, desperate at this point and not really thinking about it. It catches the man’s throat, what Dwight takes as a surprised sound escaping from its mouth. Jake seizes the opportunity to duck between its legs and scuttle past it, grabbing hold of Dwight’s wrist and making a break for it. Down the stairs and out the front door, they run in tow of each other, not even risking it to look behind them in fear of wasting precious seconds. 

“Where are we going?” Dwight manages through ragged breaths. 

“I can see it, “ Jake replies in a hushed whisper, just as winded as he is. “We’re going to Throndsen.” 

_ W- Huh? _ “You can  _ see  _ it?”

Jake nods. “She’s there, by the outskirts.” 

Dwight was about to ask him who ‘she’ was, but then he remembered. Jake’s magic, of course. He mentioned something about being able to see through the eyes of crows. Or… some feral bullshit. He doesn’t know and is in no condition to remember as the adrenaline wears off and becomes painfully aware of the wound on his shoulder and the aching of his skull. But still, they run and run and run, even in the freezing weather, the darkness of night, bleeding and bruised by a strange man who had tried to kill them for no apparent reason. 

_ God, this turned from a bad day to a bad week _ . It hasn’t been a week, but it has certainly felt that way. Tired, and beyond sick of everything. 

Finally,  _ finally _ , Jake slows down. Dwight is ready to collapse, the burning in his legs only making things so much worse. Sick, injured, and now exhausted. He’s surprised he’s lived through this whole ordeal. 

“He’s not behind us, “ Jake says, turning to Dwight. “I just checked with a nearby crow, and I saw nothing.”

“So he stopped following us?” Dwight asks. 

“I didn’t say that.” He let go of his wrist and began walking in the direction they were running towards. “I just said he’s not right on our ass. He could be following our tracks through.”

Dwight steals a look behind him, and Jake is right. Anything with a brain could track them down thanks to the obvious blood trail they’ve made. 

“Look, “ Dwight says. “Let's just keep going to Throndsen. I have friends there that can help us. Trust me, they’re good at what they do.”

Jake cocks a brow but stays silent, continuing their trek back home quietly, almost purely out of fear and natural instinct. 

“We’re almost there now.” Jake brings the scarf upwards to cover his neck more, and Dwight just realises that he must sleep with that thing on, because there was certainly no time to snag it back in the middle of that life or death battle. “I can feel that she’s close.”

_ You can feel them too? _ Dwight doesn’t voice the inquiry, but it certainly lingers in the back of his mind along with the rest of his unanswered questions. Now is not the time, and he’d already become distracted with the looming walls that he grew all so familiar with. He exhales, and a newfound hope washes over him. He’s home. He’s actually home. And all it took was to be chased down by some strange man in a white mask whose intent was to murder. He could have taken it without the physical and psychological trauma, but hey, home is home, and home was where he was safest. 

With the walls of Throndsen inching closer, he could almost cry of relief. Home at last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last of the premade chapters. The rest will be published much slower than this.


	4. Botany Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Dwight return to Throndsen City safely and are greeted by Claudette Morel.

Claudette was waiting for them by the city gates. 

Dark, misty and cold, yet there she was, standing there and shivering but smiling. Her dreadlocks, while usually tied up, are now free-flowing and messy, still clad in her nightgown. 

She runs up to Dwight. “Dwight- my God.” her running came to a halt as she saw the red stains on his shirt. “I knew you were injured, but…” She stops to think, eyes glancing over to Jake who appears equally as weathered. “Ok. You two follow me to my apothecary.” 

She immediately turns back towards the city when Jake suddenly speaks. “How did you know we were here in the first place?”

“Oh, well, “ Claudette begins. “I have magic. I’m able to see the aura of anyone injured around me. It’s… Not something I can really control or turn off, but it comes in handy in knowing what’s wrong with someone since I can also roughly pinpoint their wounds.” 

Jake remains silent, no readable expression on his face, and decides to follow Claudette as she continues, Dwight not far behind.

“Why are you awake at this hour?” Dwight asks, jogging slightly to become abreast with her. 

“I just couldn’t really… sleep tonight, so I decided to go on a walk to calm my nerves, “ she explains. “That’s when I felt you.” 

A weird feeling stirs in Dwight’s chest, a strange concoction of guilt for making her worry, and feeling so loved for the same reason. This girl, who he only a few years ago had finally mustered up the courage to speak to her, was unable to sleep because his wellbeing was in jeopardy. He knew that Claudette was naturally empathetic and that he shouldn’t feel special in knowing that she’d do this for anyone, but he did, because that was more than what most people had given him. He can’t help but think about how lucky he was to be friends with such a kind person. 

Still clutching his bad shoulder, Dwight managed up the few steps into the small building of Claudette’s apothecary, taking in the familiar herbal scent that always wafted around inside. She guided both men into a back room with some beds and stools, signing for them to take a seat. 

They hear the creaking of footsteps, Dwight and Jake both tensing in response. They both share a glance as if the same thought was on both their minds, with Dwight dry swallowing and Jake looking for an exit, or weapon, or probably both. Claudette straightens, not noticing their reactions and opening the door. 

Dwight releases a shaky exhale. He can’t have actually believed it was the masked man. No that was ridiculous - he was being paranoid again. Instead, there was Quentin, an eyebrow quirked as he examines the scene before him with confusion. 

“... Did I miss something?” He says. 

“No, but, “ Claudette lets him inside the room. “Why are you here?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” He walks over to a shelf of various containers. “Just wanted to borrow some burn cream since my dad scolded himself really bad.” Taking a container and observing its label, he turns back to everyone, pointing to the very obvious gash across Dwight’s chest. “Want me to help with that?” 

Claudette nods. “It’d be appreciated.” 

Taking a needle and thread, Quentin kneels besides Dwight with a roll of gauze too. Now completely illuminated by the singular lantern flame, he can now clearly see the unruly mess of curls that is his brown hair, and deep purple bruises beneath his eyes. 

“No sleep?” Dwight whispered to him.

“No sleep, “ he muttered back. 

While he watched Claudette prepare a basin of water and some alcohol, Dwight sits patiently and thinks to himself for a moment. He still can’t get over how bizarre this whole thing really is. How can getting lost turn to a ‘meet some feral hobo elf and almost get murdered by a tall, buff masked man’ scenario? He’s so tired, and exhaust, and sick and just hoping to catch a fucking break, but seeing how his current luck is turning out, he hardly doubts the universe would be so kind.  _ God… Just for thirty seconds. Let me sleep. I’m so tired. _

It’s very ironic in thinking that right in front of Quentin, the boy seeming so repulsed to the idea of sleeping. He doesn’t know why, and Quentin won’t explain, but he knows he has bad night terrors. The thing is; how are your nightmares so bad that you would rather stay awake for days on end? It’s literal torture, and yet he’s been enduring it since the day Dwight met him. He’s always wondered if Claudette knows, or his dad, because he doesn’t see him hang around anyone else except for this blonde girl around his age who stops by the city every so often. He doesn’t know the girl's name, and he realises he’s never even bothered to ask for it yet. Why is he so terrible at knowing names? 

“Okay, “ the sound of Quentin’s voice draws his attention back to him. And the gaping wound in his shoulder. “Try not to move too much.” He takes a clean rag and dips it into the basin, squeezing out the excess water and looking Dwight over. “I need you to take your shirt off to get a better look.” 

Right. Dwight obliges, feeling a little uncomfortable with being exposed in front of so many people. He wasn’t ugly or anything, just a little, well, underwhelming. He looks over Quentin’s shoulder to Jake who pays no mind to him, just focusing on his broken nose while Claudette sets the bones and cartilage back with some kind of special instrument. It looks painful, but Jake doesn’t even flinch. And Dwight admires that about him - he noticed it back during their fight against the masked man. Jake never screamed, or cried, or looked even remotely scared or even phased, just took it with an iron will. Resilient to pain, fearless, strong, everything Dwight wasn’t. He envies him, yes, but he also looks up to him. He aspires to be that courageous person one day. 

Dwight hisses in pain when the rag is gently pressed around his wound, cleaning away the now dried blood gingerly. Adjusting his gloves, Quentin takes the bottle of alcohol and with a new rag, gently presses it against his shoulder wound, then his chest. God, it hurt like a bitch, and his knuckles were turning white from clenching the frame of the bed, but sooner than later it’s over and he can breathe again. Taking a cream, he dips his fingers in the contents and rubs it around the edges of his cuts, and while not knowing what it is, he trusts it because he knows Claudette probably made that. It smelt herbal and wholesome and welcoming. Just like Claudette herself.

“There, “ Quentin says, looking over his progress. “The cream should reduce the inflammation, however, the worst part isn’t over.” He took something from the small table, and Dwight saw that it was a piece of leather. “You’re gonna wanna bite down on this.”

He dry swallows, taking the piece of leather into his mouth hesitantly. Quentin prepares his needle and threat, looking up at Dwight apologetically, before going in with no further hesitation. And he thought the cleaning hurt, this was so much worse. The sensation of the needle pulling in and out of his skin, every tug, sent ripples of pain throughout his entire shoulder. His body was slick with sweat, and he’d only done the shoulder. He’d still have to stitch up his chest, and while the wound wasn’t deeper, it ran longer, almost the whole length of his chest. He didn’t stop biting down on the leather, feeling as though he would break his jaw, until finally the procedure was over, though his skin still burned with pain. 

“Take it easy and rest here for the night, “ Quentin instructed. “The worst part is over. Now I just gotta bandage the wounds.” 

Dwight nods, spitting out the leather into his hands and discarding it aside, looking down at the suture work on his chest and shoulder while Quentin reaches for the roll of gauze. After the bandaging, Dwight slowly lies down on the bed, letting his weary bones sink into the soft mattress and relishing in the feeling. 

“Y’know, your mom has been asking every day if we’ve heard from you yet, “ Quentin says, taking the basin of dirty water. “But don’t worry about that, I’ll tell her you’re safe with me and Claudette. For now, just please, for the love of God, just sleep. I know you Fairfields love getting into trouble, but don’t fucking die, ‘k?” 

Dwight smiles, giving a small nod that Quentin is content with, heading outside the room while Claudette finishes up her little operation on Jake’s face. But he’s unable to pay attention to the hushed conversation they were having, succumbing to the irresistible urge to fall asleep. 

  
  


♚♘♚♘♚♘♚♘♚

  
  


By the time he wakes, he can see two forms hovering over him. One man, one woman, but clearly not Claudette and Quentin. 

It’s his mum and dad. 

His mother crashes into him gently if that’s even possible, but the absolute joy mixed with the fear of hurting him makes it so. It was a strong kind of embrace in a way of affection rather than physicality, and gentle in a way that cradles his entire fatigued body so lovingly it makes Dwight grateful to see her again. Her shoulders shake, and so does his, but he fights down the urge to cry. He was successful, but his mother wasn’t.

“Mom… “ Dwight says. “Please don’t cry.” 

“I’m so sorry baby. I’m just so happy to see you, “ She pulls him closer to her chest, so much that he could almost feel her heartbeat. 

His father put an awkward hand on his shoulder, not really knowing what to do, but trying. Dwight appreciates the effort. “We sent a whole search party for you, but we couldn’t find you. God, Dwight, where have you been? Why weren’t you with your platoon?”

“I… got lost.” It wasn’t far from the truth, but not the full story either. A lie of omission. “I just got slowed down by the rough terrain, and when I got my bearings again, everyone was gone.” He looked over his mother’s shoulders to Jake, still sleeping. “He helped me.”

His dad followed his gaze and cocked an eyebrow. “The hobo-looking elf?”

“Damian!” His mum scolded him, throwing him a scandalised look. 

He looks guilty at least, giving her an apologetic smile. She sighs and shakes her head, returning her attention to Dwight and easing up on the hug. She still takes him by the arms though, like she was afraid to let go of him, and her eyes misted up again. “God, I’m so happy you’re back home.” She looks over his wounds. “Baby, what happened to you? Why are you so hurt?”

Dwight pauses to collect his thoughts and feelings. He doesn’t even know what happened. How can he explain everything to his mother if it barely makes sense to himself? “Well, it’s a long story, and it’s kinda hard to explain, but…” He begins picking the skin near his fingernails, remembering. “After I got lost but found Jake and his cabin, he let me stay for a few nights ‘cause I’m sick. And then we got attacked.” 

His mother just stares at him in disbelief, heartbroken. “Attacked? By who? Why? Why would someone want to hurt you?”

“I don’t know who. He had a mask on.” Dwight looks down at his fingers. “But I don’t think he was after me…” Both his mother and father give him a curious look, so Dwight continues. “I think it was after him.” 

They all look back towards Jake, still fast asleep, looking peaceful yet still so exhausted. His hair was more dishevelled than usual, his skin pale, the bandages across the bridge of his nose holding the bone and cartilage in place. It reminded Dwight of how Quentin usually looks, save for the broken nose. 

Speaking of Quentin, he walks through the door just before his parents could question why he said that, looking as tired as ever but looking a bit better than usual. 

“Claud’s sleeping, so I’m the one in charge today, yeah?” He says, raising an eyebrow.

Dwight scoffs. “You’re not the boss of me.” 

“You wanna put that theory to the test?” 

Dwight straightens, a mischievous smile on his face as he speaks. “I’m older than you. You’re literally a kid.” 

“That’s not fair, “ he grumbles. “I’m turning eighteen in like- two weeks or something.” 

“And that means as of currently, you are a kid.” 

Before Quentin could respond with his usual snark, Dwight’s mother puts herself between them. “Alright you two, stop before you bite each other’s heads off, “ she says lightheartedly with a gentle smile on her face. He knows what she’s thinking, because she says it all the time, but whenever he’s relaying some sort of petty fight between him and Quentin she’ll snort, and just shake her head, saying something about Quentin being his long-lost brother. She reckons they fight like siblings, though Dwight can’t say for sure being an only child. But the thought is nice; being close to him as though they were brothers, and the same with Claudette, her being his sister, but the thought just seems so outlandish, just out of his reach, fingers brushing against something so close but can never have. 

“So, how’s your head?” Quentin asks.

Dwight places his hand on the bandages around his head and feels for any pain or confusion. “I mean, I have a terrible headache, but I still don’t think I’m concussed.”

Quentin nods. “Good. Glad to see that you’re not dying but still suffering- “ he earns a sharp look from Dwight and he smiles. “ -but if anything goes wrong, you know where to find me.”

A small groan sounds from the end of the room, all eyes following Jake’s form, still lying in bed, but clearly waking up.  _ Geez, almost the whole gang’s here now… _ His eyes travel from Quentin to Dwight, and then his parents and locks on to them, silently watching them. 

Dwight makes a little sound in his throat. “Jake… These are- well, my parents. Parents, meet Jake.” 

His dad still looks sceptical, but his mum smiles kindly at him. “I heard from Dwight that you helped him. Thank you so much.” 

Jake blinks, apparently taken back by the sincerity of her words and looks askance at the floor. “Um, no worries…” 

Dwight has to stifle a laugh because of that. How can a man so unmoved by the threat of having his own life ripped from him have his iron facade almost completely shatter by a single nice comment his mother made? 

“Stay as long as you want, “ Quentin says to Dwight’s parents before turning to Jake. “Uh, do your parents or friends live near here?”

Jake simply shakes his head no. 

“So where do your parents and friends live.” 

Jake doesn’t answer, just settling for a steady glare at Quentin, and that’s when the boy leaves it alone. “Oh- um, I’m sorry for asking then.” Dwight feels pained at how uncomfortable and sorry Quentin looks, but he can’t just tell him that that’s just how Jake is.  _ Sorry man. You’re not the only one _ . 

Try to recover from the embarrassment, Quentin clears his throat and continues. “Well, if that’s the case, you have to stay in the city before I discharge you, ok?” 

Jake thinks about for a moment, before giving a nod. “Ok.”

If Jake is staying here, then this will be a long recovery process. He just hopes that the elf will go easy on them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, yes, so sorry about that! Hopefully, the next chapter will be much longer to make up for it.


End file.
